The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2) by CW Browning (read after .txt) 📗

She disappeared into her room and the door closed behind her a moment later. Evelyn exhaled and closed her door, turning to lift her suitcase onto the bed. She didn’t like to speak about herself at all with strangers, not wanting to inadvertently give too much information that could be used against her. It was something that had been drilled into her in Scotland. The less anyone knew about you, the better. The comment about brothers had slipped out before she could think, and now Anna knew she had a brother. She supposed it didn’t really make a difference. Anna didn’t know her real name, or even where she was from. It was unlikely that that particular piece of trivia would mean anything to the woman other than to present something they had in common.

That was something else her training had drilled into her. Always try to establish something in common with contacts, something they could relate to. Not that Anna was a mark for information, but she was still a contact. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to build a relationship there. After all, who knew when she might have need of a friend in Norway?

Evelyn undid her case and opened it, pushing aside the nagging feeling of distaste at thinking of Anna in terms of how she could use her. The woman had come with her, miles from her home and into a different country, to act as an interpreter for her without question. If nothing else, she was certainly one of the most obliging females Evelyn had come across. She didn’t like lying to her.

Pulling a blue dinner dress out of the case, her lips curved despite herself. She wasn’t sure how much good the lying was actually doing with Anna, anyway. The woman already knew she wasn’t the journalist she was pretending to be, and had figured out that Maggie Richardson was not her name. Because she worked with Daniel Carew, Anna knew that Evelyn was an agent of some kind. Hopefully, she didn’t have a clear idea of exactly what kind.

The smile faded as she laid the dress on the bed next to the case. The story had to be maintained, but at this point both women knew the truth. The only question was why Anna had agreed to help her. Norway was a neutral country and, while England was their ally, they had made it clear that they wouldn’t break their neutrality in favor of any of the combating nations. Why, then, was Anna so willing to assist? Was it simply because she was familiar with Carew and had acted as a courier for him on occasion? Or was it something more? Evelyn remembered the look on Anna’s face that reminded her so forcibly of her feeling of uselessness just a short year ago, and she pressed her lips together thoughtfully.

With nothing to do until Vladimir made contact, she could focus on Anna. If she couldn’t figure out her motives by the time she left Sweden then she had no business working for MI6 at all. Her job was to gather information from both friendly and enemy sources.

And that was exactly what she was going to do.

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London, England

The traffic was steady, streaming around Piccadilly just as it always had. If anything, the war had increased the congestion in the late afternoon as everyone tried to finish their errands before nightfall and the blackout. The man stepped out of a shop and looked around before turning and heading towards the corner. Looking over his shoulder to the street, he spotted an available taxi and raised his umbrella to summon it, stepping to the curb. While he waited for it to maneuver its way to the side of the road, he glanced at his watch. He had plenty of time before his meeting. There was no rush.

The taxi stopped beside him and he got into the back. “Whitehall, please.”

“Sir.” The driver nodded and a moment later they were easing back into the flow of traffic.

The man looked out of the window, his lips tightening. He hadn’t meant to be away from the office this long. It was supposed to be a quick trip to the tailor after lunch and then back to work. Things were hectic around the building these days, and he didn’t like to be away for any longer than was necessary. This time, however, he’d had no choice. When the boy had pushed past him and shoved a grimy note into his hand, his return to the office had to be delayed. Which was why he was now in a cab, blocks away from the Foreign Ministry.

His face darkened as he watched the city go by. The message he retrieved at the shop in Piccadilly had been brief and to the point. They wanted the package; the package that he had assured them he would be able to deliver. They were getting impatient, and he really couldn’t blame them. They wanted to know where it was.

And so did he.

He’d been to Ainsworth Manor and searched the study thoroughly. There was no sign of the package there. He’d even managed to get into the library and searched that as well, but it was useless. The package was nowhere to be found. It was as if it had simply disappeared.

Yet, he knew that wasn’t the case. Robert Ainsworth would never have allowed it to be misplaced. He would have realized the value of what he’d come across, and he would have made sure it was secured. The most obvious place was his country seat, but he’d been unable to locate it there. So, when the man returned to London, he had searched the Ainsworth house in Brook Street. That, too, had proved fruitless. And now he was stymied.

Where on earth had the old man stashed it? The man had thought it unlikely that Ainsworth had carried it with him when he went on that last,